


Makkachin and the Fantastic Adventure of the Wind-Catcher Machine

by tikistitch



Series: Makkachin Tales [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Makkachin's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9762380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: Makkachin accompanies his favorite humans on a brilliant summer holiday by the lakeside.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have guessed, this story was inspired by the artwork of our three favorite figure skaters driving a pink Cadillac to a summer holiday outing. As that is the way I tend to think, I wondered what Makkachin’s reaction would be? Please note, I wrote an earlier story in which Yuri adopted a stray terrier mix, so he’s gone along for the ride as well. And in case you don't know, besbarmak is the national dish of Kazakhstan.

“Piro! Piro! Piro! Have you heard the news?”

Makkachin gallumphed down the stairs at full speed, and trotted around the living room in a dither, calling out to his comrade. Victor Nikiforov, hero of Russia, had recently brought brand a new member into his little family: a bright-eyed, part-terrier, part-Lenin-knows-what. His mission was to serve as a companion to Katsuki Yuri, Japan's ace as well as Victor's newly-anointed fiance.

Since his arrival, a suitable name for the young one had been the topic of much concerned debate within and without the Nikiforov-Katsuki-Plisetsky household. Interested parties had proposed and rejected any number of sobriquets, borrowed from a retinue of figure skating legends as well as stand-out cartoon characters, and several onomatopoetic creations courtesy Victor himself. But neither Boitano-chan nor Piccolo nor even Puppernik seemed to quite fit. 

Then came Makkachin's clever scheme to liberate a batch of Yurio's latest culinary creations for the good of the Motherland. Though Makkachin had personally disposed of a good half dozen of the delicacies before an intervention, the little terrier had been caught up red-handed attempting to ferry a besbarmak-flavored piroshky big as his own head from the kitchen. 

He was immediately dubbed by a rather overly indulgent (in Yurio's view) Victor as “Pirozhok,” a nickname that turned out to have considerable sticking power. Yuri, for his part, sealed the deal with its affectionate diminuitive, “Piro-chan.” 

“Pirozhok!” called Makkachin, who was now in earnest. “Where are you, comrade?”

“He is still in a tizzy over that preposterous chew toy,” growled the cat.

Makkachin immediately ceased his romping and skidded over to the couch, planting his front legs up on the cushions, stretching his neck to face the cat, eye to eye. “You've seen him? I have tidings!”

The cat gave a stretch and licked at a paw. “The lakeside holiday you mean? This has been known to my intelligence network for quite some time. I don't see why it should be an occasion for panic.”

Makkachin kept still, trying to be patient, although it was a trial. The cat had been in an especially intemperate mood after the Pirozhki scheme. She had evidently been angling to sample these treats for a considerable time, claiming that such things merited a redistribution amongst the masses. But after Makkachin obtained one of the precious pastries especially for her, she became upset, as she claimed the heavy spicing smacked of counter-revolutionary attitudes, plus it gave her indigestion. 

“You have seen Piro then?” Makkachin prompted as she continued to attend to a paw.

“Lakeside holidays are not to my liking,” she mused. “For one, the beach sand gets quite literally everywhere.”

“I quite like the beach,” Makkachin admitted.

The cat switched her tail. “And the humidity mats the fur.”

“You're not still angry over the besbarmak pirozhki are you?” It needed to be said.

White fur ruffed up in disdain. “Mutton is not to my liking,” she muttered darkly. “If one is to attempt besbarmak, I much prefer the original recipe.”

“This St. Petersburg, not Almaty – where would one be supposed to obtain horse meat?”

The cat formed her features into a sour expression. She stood, and made to stalk off, but finally turned back and said, over her shoulder, “Try the laundry room.” And then she was gone, tail held high.

Makkachin nosed the door to the basement open and padded downstairs. He heard the dryer thumping in a dull rhythm – had Yurio loaded up his Hi Tops again, because that would put Victor in a lather?

Laid out on a rug just in front of the machine, Pirozhok gnawed on his rawhide chew. It was knotted up in a ball nearly as big as he, but with his terrier's determination, he had managed to separate a small tab for chewing purposes. Their veterinarian – a cheerful young man who smelled of pine shavings and chicory coffee – had diagnosed the pup's tendency to gnaw on this and that as a symptom of teething, and so various chew toys had been granted him with the intention of staving off his appetite for the tasty wooden legs of Victor's favorite designer couch. 

“Piro!” Makkachin called.

The terrier's eyes popped open as if he'd been startled from a dream. “Oh! Makkachin. Would you care for an end?” he offered, nosing the chew in the older dog's direction.

“Wouldn't dream of it!” said Makkachin, who was nevertheless much chuffed at the polite gesture. “I have great news! We are to ride in a Wind-Catcher Machine!”

Piro nosed at his chew toy, obviously rather keen on getting back to it. “Yes? A Wind-Catcher?”

“Yes!”

“Oh.” Piro huffed and looked grim. “It doesn't mean another visit to the veterinarian does it? I don't like being prodded.”

“No no no!” Makkachin explained, turning around a full 360 degrees in his excitement. “It's a holiday.”

“What is that? A … _holiday?_ ”

Makkachin grinned. “You ride a very long time in the Wind-Catcher, and O the smells! A veritable riot! And then at last you come to the lakeside, where there are more smells on the wind, and a wide, sandy beach and gulls to chase, and trees of every size and description.”

Piro blinked, tilting his head. “And … no veterinarians?”

“No poking, no prodding. No needles. Just the lake! Crystal blue water – clear as our dear Victor's eyes - it stretches like unto infinity. And so many sticks for your Yuri to throw – sticks like you've never seen, bleached as bones.”

Makkachin could see little Prio’s eyes glaze over with all of this. He had led a sheltered life, and could not comprehend. No worries though – he would see!

A thump sounded up overhead, and ears were cocked. “Victor!” called Makkachin, overjoyed at the return of his beloved companion. “Come! We must greet him.” And so saying, Makkachin bounded up the stairs, taking them two and three and even four at a time.

Little Piro-chan made to follow, up-up-up, but then realizing he’d left his chew toy, turned round and down-down-down to grab it up, and then hurried along afterwards, up-up-up!

The living room, which had been peaceful, was now the center of a small riot as Makkachin delightedly circled his beloved master and Yuri came running down the stairs, sailing into Victor’s arms. “Did you get it? Did you get it?” he asked after Victor planted a light kiss on his forehead.

Victor stepped back and executed a flawless pirouette, spreading out a graceful hand. “I achieved a great success at the rental bureau!”

Yurio, who was dragging a leopard print upholstered wheeled suitcase down the stairs, could be heard to grumble, “Yeah, Russia’s hero rented a car. I’m breathless.”

Victor, undeterred, grabbed Yuri’s shoulders. “Wait until you see! Come! Take a look!” Then he wrapped himself around Yuri and walked him outside, dogs in pursuit and Yurio trailing after. 

Piro, blinking in the sunlight, was brought up short by the sight. “Makka, what can this be?” he gasped.

“Piro, we are in luck!” Makkachin told him as they body scampered around, giving the marvelous Wind Catcher Machine a careful inspection from all possible angles. It was large and sleek and o so very pink!

“Victor! A Caddy!” Yuri exclaimed. He threw open the driver side door and hopped behind the wheel.

“What is this monstrosity?” moaned Yurio. “What have you done now? Am I supposed to be seen tooling around in this … thing?”

Makkachin, who had been three times round the perimeter, now performed a flawless leap into the back seat. “It’s soft as the softest couch! You absolutely must see this, Piro!”

Piro attempted a running jump but, alas, fell short. Victor courteously opened the back door for him and then scooped up both him and his giant chew toy and deposited them at Makkachin’s side. “I believe they approve!” he declared as Makkachin trotted over to greet him. “Isn’t it splendid?”

“I’ve always wanted to drive one of these,” said Yuri, still behind the wheel, dreaming of open highways. 

“I’ll give you some lessons,” Victor promised, sliding in beside Yuri and pulling him halfway into his lap. “I am an excellent driver.”

“You’re excellent at getting parking tickets, that’s for sure,” groaned Yurio, as another driver swerved at the last minute and swore at the rather frankly double-parked vehicle.

“We’ll need to get packed and on our way,” Victor told the others, scooting himself and Yuri out of the car, his hands lingering on Yuri’s waist. He gave Yuri a playful swat on the ass. “Come on now!” Yurio rolled his eyes at the spectacle of it all as Yuri scooped little Piro into his jacket and went hurrying inside for his luggage.

“It’s going to take a century to get all your crap packed out,” Yurio told Victor.

“Ah, that is where I have planned ahead,” said Victor, who raised up the trunk with a flourish. “Observe if you will the capaciousness!”

“Hmm,” said Yurio, as Makkachin planted his front paws on the bumper in order to give it a close inspection.

“Big enough to hide a body!” declared Victor.

For the first time, Yurio’s face broke into a small, sly smile. “Yeah, but whose body?”

Victor winked mysteriously and then sauntered back into their apartment. Yurio, for his part, looked upon their chosen vehicle with renewed respect towards their Wind-Catcher. Makkachin, who had grown impatient, gently herded him back towards his luggage, so things could begin. Still, despite Makkachin’s best efforts, it seemed forever and a day until they were finally underway. Victor had a rather dizzying pile of luggage to relocate, and it did not help that he was adding more and more as the two Yuris attempted to ferry it all out to the sidewalk. 

Finally it came that delicious moment when Victor secured the front door, positioned his sunglasses, and swept his scarf around his neck. 

He paused, still up on the front porch, holding one last suitcase and glancing down at the scarf. “Hm. I have a softer scarf. I wonder if it would be worth it….”

“No!” chorused both Yuris in a rare display on synchrony.

Victor grinned, repositioned his sunglasses, and headed towards the car. Makkachin bounded into the luxury of the back seat, Piro at his heels as Victor opened the driver’s side door.

 _“Shotgun!”_ yelled Yuri.

Yurio paused at the passenger side door as Yuri attempted to sidle in past him. “What are you doing.”

“I called shotgun,” Yuri told him with a smug smile.

“What madness is that, Katsudon?”

“Yes, he was clearly first, Yurio,” said Victor. “This is how things are done in America. It’s a tradition.”

“We’re in Russia!” Yurio fumed.

“But this is an American luxury vehicle,” Victor explained. “There are traditions. Now, get into the back. There’s plenty of room.”

“I’m not sitting with two dogs!”

“The dogs seem fine to sit with you,” said Victor. “Now load up. Oh, and find a place for this!” he added, handing over his carry-on bag.

Yurio carried on fussing and fuming, but nevertheless wedged in the bag and seated himself in the back between the two canine members of the party. Victor fired up the engine, and they were off!

Yurio pulled his hood up as the wind began to blow, and then hunched over his Makkachin Photo Device. Makkachin tried to inspect it, but found once again a sorry lack of Makkachin images, but a surfeit of rather self-pitying texts to someone named Otabek. But then Makkachin’s sensitive nose detected something of note.

“Piro! Over here!” he called. To Yurio’s annoyance, Piro leapt over his lap to stand beside Makkachin. “I believe there’s a garbage truck over here!”

Both dogs held noses high as the mighty Wind Catcher Machine brought in reports of fresh trash. “Oh, that’s blissful,” sighed Piro.

“Wait, wait!” shouted Makkachin. “I believe there is a cat down that alley!” He stepped over Yurio to survey the other side. 

“Yes!” said Piro. “One, maybe two!” He sniffed in perfect contentment for a moment, and then looked upwards. “Makkachin!” he called, and then he was once more running over the back seat. “Look at the birds!”

“Those are gulls – they must be!” Makkachin declared, his tail wagging firmly into Yurio’s face.

“God dammit, you two, pick a side and stay there!” Yurio shouted.

Yuri, perhaps hoping to make peace, reached back and plucked up Piro from where he was standing, tucking him into his jacket. The small dog blinked and stared. “Makkachin, you have no idea!” he yelled back to his friend. “Oh, look at everything rushing by!”

“I told you! I told you!” Makkachin was now standing with his front paws hooked over the front seat, butt wagging once again in Yurio’s face.

“Makkachin, dear, please settle down,” Victor urged. “There will be many sticks for you where we’re going. You must conserve your energy!”

“Does this place even have WiFi?” Yurio demanded, head still bowed over his Makkachin Photo Device.

“Why should you need the internet?” Victor asked. “You’ll spend your days running up and down the beach.”

“I’m not running down a beach! I’d rather die,” declared Yurio.

“Well, that does clear up the matter of whose body will be in the trunk I guess.”

Yurio huffed and puffed, and Makkachin gave him a lovely kiss right on the mouth to cheer him up. (It didn't seem to work – human boys were strange matters.)

 

Pirozhok blinked awake when Yuri twisted himself around to view the back seat. This was a good spot for dozing, right next to the steady beating of Yuri's true heart. 

“Looks like they've crashed,” Yuri said softly. Yurio and Makkachin were spread out, somehow using one another for cushions whilst they dozed and dreamed, and drooled (a little).

Victor leaned over slightly and draped an arm around Yuri's shoulders. “Once we get in, we'll leave the children to nap, and go – you and I – driving somewhere quiet. I have a use for that back seat in mind,” he added with a sly wink.

“Hrm, the back seat?” asked Yuri, giving Piro a scratch behind the ears to hide a blush.

Victor peeked over his sunglasses. “Yuri! Come now, if you're wise enough to know how to call out _shotgun_ , I'm sure you know what goes on in the back seat of an American car.” Victor shook his head indulgently, but then yelped and suddenly tugged at the steering wheel, sending the car jerking.

“Wha-?” babbled Yurio, who raised his head, bleary-eyed.

Victor glanced down to where Yuri's hand had slipped over to grip the inside of his thigh. “Katsuki Yuri, you are a devil!”

Yuri flashed a grin and removed his hand. Victor caught it, interlacing their fingers, and gave Yuri's hand a kiss. “We're definitely going to give that back seat a good workout,” he whispered in his very best Victor Nikiforov voice.

“Oh stop it you two, that's disgusting!” Yurio howled. “And get this dog away from me! I'm getting fur everywhere.”

“Don't you worry, Makkachin,” Victor called back. “We'll give you a good brushing to get rid of those ugly blond hairs in your fur!”

 

Arrival was in many ways a reversal of the departure: with much attention by the dogs, a great deal of luggage was carted into the bungalow. After many, many, many trips out and back, Yurio sat down in the middle of the floor and demanded a feeding. 

After a time, Victor hustled Yuri out the door, bottle of wine in hand, on a scheme to take in some sort of overlook before the sun set. And so Yurio was left to his own devices amidst two dogs and many half-empty takeout cartons. 

Yurio had not been invited along.

Not that he had wanted to go, of course!

Makkachin spread out on the couch while Piro napped. He peered over Yurio's shoulder as the boy fretted over his Makkachin Photo Device. Makkachin had tried on numerous occasions to school his young friend in the device's proper operation, but all had been for naught. 

Yurio now sat typing out yet another message to someone named Otabek, meanwhile cursing the lack of internet connectivity. “No WiFi! What century are these people living in. Victor you geezer!”

Makkachin was not certain about WHYFYE – he suspected it might be some variation of pirozhky. He could see however the view out the main window, where the lake lie beckoning. There was soft sand, and birds in want of chasing, and the wind – what secrets did it hold?

How Makkachin longed to stretch his legs! Still and all, he recognized his duties as Victor's companion: he must stand watch over the boy. 

No matter how pig-headed he was currently being.

Yurio slouched in the dark, the tiny screen the center of his focus. “WHY WERE THEY SO DAMN KEEN ON GETTING BACK INTO THE CAR?” read the last, lonely message. 

Yurio sighed.

Makkachin sighed.

Pirozhok snored.

The phone beeped. 

Yurio and Makkachin both jumped at the noise and then gaped in wonder at the newly wrought speech bubble. “I'LL TELL YOU WHEN YOU'RE OLDER.”

“Otabek? OTABEK?” yelled Yuri. He shot to his feet, startling Makkachin and waking up poor Piro, who bounced off the couch in alarm. “Where did my bars go?” Yuri wailed, now sticking the phone up in the air, high as he could reach and, failing to catch internet service there, then ascending the couch and thence the arm and the back, up on tiptoe (his ballet teacher would have been proud), madly waving his device. “I had two bars! Where did they go?”

Piro, mistaking such gyrations for a beguiling game of keep-away, danced around and made several rather impressive attempts at jumping.

Makkachin was seized by inspiration. He hurtled to the door on the lake side of the bungalow, thumping his paws smack in the middle.

“What? You have to go outside now?” Yurio asked, shaking his Makkachin Photo Device in frustration. But then his face changed. “Wait, maybe there's a signal. Come on!” He grabbed a jacket made for the door.

Makkachin called out to Piro, who had rather tangled himself up in knots trying to retrieve the Makkachin Photo Device. “Come quickly! The world awaits!” he sounded. Piro unrolled himself and the two dogs charged out the door, heading down the sandy wooden steps and out to the beckoning shore. 

Makkachin quickly dispensed with a flock of shore birds and then ran back and forth along the the liminal margin between water and earth. Piro splashed out to paw-depth in the clear cold water, overwhelmed by the bewitching scents blown in by the breeze.

“Can this be real, Makkachin?” Piro asked. 

“All real, my friend,” laughed Makkachin, shaking off some water. He turned back for a moment to observe Yurio, who was about halfway down the stairs, still madly waving his Makkachin Photo Device around. “He really ought learn how to use that. I've tried to offer him suggestions, time and again-”

“He needs employment. I will assist him!” Piro offered. Makkachin stood, head tilted, as Piro ran down the beach and located a lovely piece of driftwood, half again as long as the little terrier. With his best effort, he picked up the stick and dragged it up-up-up the wooden stairs towards the still fuming Yurio.

“What is this?” asked Yurio when Piro confronted him with his prize. It was of course a rhetorical question, as it was rather obvious it was a wonderful example of a throwing stick. Piro dropped the stick at Yurio's feet and then took a step back, wagging his tail in invitation.

“Oh! You want me to throw this? That's ridiculous,” Yurio scoffed. “What's the use?” Undeterred (terriers were rather famously tenacious, Makkachin mused), Piro ruffed a small bark and continued wagging.

“All right. Go!” Yurio seized the stick and carelessly let fly, returning at once to squinting at his device. He huffed as he sat down on the steps, glaring as if that could bring on the WHYFYE.

Piro bounded after the stick, which skidded only a few feet from Yurio, and this time dragged the huge stick all the way into Yurio's lap. Makkachin looked on in approval. Obviously, the boy just needed practice.

“Ugh. I know you're not a cat, and you belong to Yuri, so you're probably an idiot too, but look at this stick!” He held it up, and Piro, in his excitement, performed a perfect backflip. “It's too big! Much too big.” Yurio set the Makkachin Photo Device in his lap and began to break the stick down into something he felt was more aerodynamic. “There, see this? This is your size!”

Piro had nearly fainted from excitement. Makkachin looked on in wonder. Piro was still young, but he had a knack for instructing the humans in his care!

Yurio stood up and let fly. The new and improved throwing stick sailed down the beach, and Piro tumbled after it, running straight through a flowering hedge in his excitement. He seized up the stick and barreled back, dragging a string of tiny blue flowers after him.

Yurio stood, hands on hips as Piro dropped the stick. “Now you look ridiculous!” He picked the string of flowers out of Piro's fur and then, as if on impulse, gave it a twist, bringing it around to form a small circle, which he ceremoniously placed back around Piro's head.

Makkachin trotted up to inspect this marvel. “There. Now you're king of the flowers,” Yurio told him. Piro blinked, astounded at the honor. Makkachin gave the crown a thorough inspection, and then looked up at Yurio.

The boy rolled his eyes. “Oh, now you want one too?” He eyed his Makkachin Photo Device and then, miraculously, pocketed it and pointed down the beach. “All right. As Victor left me with nothing else to do! Let's go that way.” He stooped down and picked up the stick, which he tossed down the beach, and then the three of them continued towards a nearby stand of wildflowers. Upon arrival, and after another lengthy stare at his Makkachin Photo Device, Yurio subjected each flower to a thorough inspection. Makkachin decided to try his luck at offering sticks, and was rewarded with some rather decent tosses. Perhaps the boy was able to be trained after all?

And so it went, for a time. Yurio picked some more flowers, and then some more further on down, and then yet some more. From time to time, Piro would drop a stick at his feet, and it would be tossed. Sometimes, too, Yurio would extract the Makkachin Photo Device from his pocket, shake his head, and replace it. But before long there were flowers and sticks and the shore and birds to chase and the wind.

They were at a bend in the road, the sun low in the sky, and Yurio had just managed one of his best tosses yet, sending Piro off on a merry chase. Makkachin stood sniffing the wind when he caught a very familiar scent.

He tore off up the bank, towards the roadway, and spotted a very familiar Wind-Catcher Machine. He galloped up and planted paws on the fender, peeking inside.

Victor and Yuri lay spread out on the back seat, tangled in one another, half in and half out of their clothing. Victor's hand was gently tracing down the curving miracle of Yuri's bare back. They smelt of sweat and contentment.

Makkachin thumped his legs on the fender.

Victor was awoken from his reverie. He squinted. 

“Makkachin?” he asked.

That was all the invitation the dog needed. In one bound, he hurtled into the car, landing square in the middle of the couple, and causing a small bit of fuss, which ended with Yuri mostly on the floor and Makkachin squarely in Victor's lap.

“Makkachin, my dear, how did you find us?” Victor laughed, giving his beloved poodle a scratch behind the ears.

There was a small bark and small thump, and by some miracle, Piro managed to launch himself up the rear fender and into the back seat tangle. 

“Piro-chan!” said Yuri. “What's with the flowers?” 

Attention shifted again as the passenger side door opened and closed with a slam. The crowd in the back seat scrambled to look forward, where Yurio was now planted, feet up on the dash, hair strung in wildflowers, while beside him was a bouquet of yet more flowers.

“ _Gun-shot!_ Or whatever. I'm tired. Take me home,” ordered Yurio.

Victor grinned. “Did you go out for a walk, like I suggested?”

“No,” Yurio snapped.

“No?” Victor and Yuri exchanged a glance.

“Your pets needed sticks. And there were flowers. And … now I'm tired.”

Makkachin prodded Yurio's shoulder with his nose. _Show him._

Yurio sighed and extracted his Makkachin Photo Device from his pocket. “There was no WiFi,” he grumbled, handing it over.

Victor scrolled through the photos as Yuri and Makkachin watched. Victor gasped. Photos of dogs. Dogs with sticks. Dogs with flower crowns. Selfies with flower crowns. Selfies with dogs and flower crowns. And sticks. And more dogs. 

“Yurio,” breathed Victor. Suddenly he bolted forward and seized Yurio, giving his head a good and proper scratch. “This is beautiful!”

Makkachin barked, triumphant!

Yurio wrested himself from Victor's grasp. “Yeah, yeah. Take me home.”

Victor and Yuri exchanged a grin.

A moment later, the driver's side door opened and shut. Yurio, who had slouched down in the seat, burying himself in his jacket like a turtle into its shell, glanced over and then yelped in surprise.

Yuri inserted the key, turned the engine, and gripped the parking brake.

“How are you driving? You can't drive a car!” Yurio demanded.

“Victor gave me a lesson.”

“Kind of … half a lesson,” said Victor with a wink.

“Hang on!” shouted Yuri, cranking the car into gear, wild expression on his face.

“Victor!” yelled Yurio. 

As the car slipped out of the turnout with a crunch of gravel and a squeal of tires, Makkachin leapt into the front seat, where he planted himself in Yurio's lap and leaned forward, nose out the window.

Catching the wind.


End file.
